Romancing the Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  “Sure,” she said lamely, and fought a swell of irritation. Was he just going to ignore what happened between them last night? She couldn’t. Every time she looked at him, her gaze went to his mouth, and she remembered how he’d teased her clit with his tongue for what felt like hours. When he reached for his silverware, she gaped at his hands, remembering how those fingers had found just the right spot inside her to drive her mad with need.

  “Do you have any ideas?” Jonathan asked, spreading his napkin on his lap.

  Oh, she had ideas, all right. Violet watched his strong, blunt hands move to the table surface again. Those were distracting her. He said something else that she didn’t catch. “Hmm?”

  “Violet? Any ideas on where we go next? I’ll follow your lead.”

  She blinked. “Follow my lead?”

  He tilted his head, eyes narrowing at her. “You seem distracted this morning.”

  Why wouldn’t she be distracted? Irritation flared and she grabbed her own napkin-rolled silverware and tore the bundle apart. “Of course I’m distracted.”

  “Thinking about the clue?”

  Fuck the clue. “No,” she bit out. “About what happened on the plane last night.”

  His gaze was steady, his face unreadable. “What about it?”

  Her jaw dropped a little. “Well, it shouldn’t have happened, for starters.”

  He shrugged.

  A shrug? That was all she got? Violet fought back her temper as she patted her napkin in her lap. The waitress came by and brought coffee, and they were momentarily distracted with ordering breakfast. “Just toast,” Violet said, hating the snappish tone in her voice. God, she sounded like a bitch. When the waitress left, Violet wrapped her hands around her coffee cup—so she’d resist lobbing it at Jonathan’s oh-so-casual head—and frowned at him. “I feel like we need to talk about what happened.”

  Again, he shrugged. “I’m listening.”

  She ground her teeth at his casualness. “I just . . . I feel like friends with benefits is not the direction we want to head.”

  “All right.” He picked up his cup and took a sip, then set it down and picked up his tablet again, studying the screen.

  That was it? Violet clenched her fists. What about protests? Utterances of undying love for her? Didn’t he say he’d always loved her and wouldn’t stop? Hadn’t he vowed it just yesterday when he was between her damn legs? And now he just didn’t give a shit?

  What the ever-loving fuck?

  A horrible thought occurred to Violet. What if . . . what if he was disappointed in her? What if that was why he was so cool now? She tugged at the low neckline of her loose top, suddenly feeling self-conscious and dowdy. She wasn’t as thin and athletic as she’d been ten years ago. A few extra pounds—okay, twenty—had settled on her already hourglass figure and made her a little curvier than most. He’d picked up some damn impressive tricks in the last ten years and made her come like wild. But what if he had built her up in his imagination and now he found her performance lacking?

  For some reason, that was like a stab in the heart.

  It was like . . . when she knew Jonathan was still in love with her, she could hold him at arm’s length, until she was ready to let go of the past and accept him again. If she held on to her bitterness and anger for another year or two, she knew he wouldn’t give up on her. She’d been comfortable to hold him away. It was safe, and Violet liked safe.

  But this new, casual Jonathan, who didn’t give a shit if they had sex or not?

  This man was a stranger, and she didn’t know what to do. And she wasn’t sure she liked it. “All right?” she echoed. “That’s all you have to say?”

  He looked up at her again. “What do you want me to say? I told you that you could call the shots. I said it was about you. If you don’t want to do it again, that’s fine.”

  That was fine? He’d given her the best orgasm of her life and taken nothing for himself and that was fine?

  “Okay then,” she said, feeling a bit lost. “Let’s go back to just friends.”

  “Just friends,” he agreed.

  Why did she feel like she was the one losing this battle?

  “So . . .” Violet said after taking a steadying sip of her coffee. “We’re here at the hotel. We have a poem that talks about nothing in particular. What do we do?”

  Jonathan shrugged again—a gesture she was beginning to hate. “I’m sure something will come to us. Maybe we need to explore the city. The poem mentioned wheels. Maybe we need to look for wheels of some kind.”

  It was as good a lead as any. “Just looking for wheels seems rather vague to me. And if we don’t find the wheel my father referred to?”

  “Then we wait here for a while and see what hits us. Something will pop up.”

  He seemed so very casual about the entire thing. “So we just lounge around on a Greek island and enjoy the sun and sand? Is that what you’re saying?”

  He grinned, a flicker of the old Jonathan rising to the surface. “Is that such a bad thing?”

  It wasn’t, not really. Santorini was lovely from what she remembered, and the weather seemed to be nice today. “Do you think we should check out the ruins?”

  “We’re not part of any sort of archaeological dig, so I don’t know if they’d just let us out there unless we pulled strings. We can, but if it wasn’t one of your father’s digs, it would seem strange for him to send us out there.”

  That was true. She knew that he’d been heavily involved in the Akrotiri ruins for about five years, and then had abruptly changed his mind, heading for Spain instead. Why Spain, she hadn’t known and hadn’t cared. “So . . . we’re basically stranded at the moment.”

  “I guess we are. Want to go sightseeing?”

  She blinked at his suggestion. “Shouldn’t we work on this?”

  “We should. And we will. But for now, why don’t we just enjoy the day? Take some time off? You seem tired.”

  If she was tired, it was because she was still a puddle of jelly after last night’s interlude. It was an interlude which had rattled her to her core and hadn’t seemed to affect him at all. Sheesh. “I’m not tired.”

  “Good. Then shall we go exploring?”

  “Can’t I eat breakfast first?”

  “I never said we’d skip out on the eating,” Jonathan said in a low murmur.

  And that made her blush, thinking again of the plane ride over. Damn it, she was pretty sure he’d said that just to bug her. And that made her all confused again.

  Which Jonathan was he? Jonathan of all shrugs and not caring if they ever touched each other again? Or suggestive, madly in love with her after ten years Jonathan?

  She was so confused.

  —

  They spent the day in the warm sun. Santorini was just as idyllic as she remembered it. The island itself was formed from the remnants of a volcano, the city hugging the edges of the caldera. It had been one of the oldest civilizations in existence thirty-six hundred years ago when the volcano had erupted and destroyed Akrotiri. In the present day, Fira town was its own little white cluster of buildings crawling over the rocky soil, surrounded by the impossibly beautiful ocean and jagged cliffs. It was utterly lovely, and the sky overhead was a sea of endless blue.

  She’d loved this place when she’d snuck away here with Jonathan so many years ago. They’d left the Akrotiri dig behind for a weekend of passionate lovemaking in the Kallista Hotel back when they were teenagers, and walking the streets ten years later, she couldn’t stop thinking about that weekend.

  Back then, Jonathan had held her hand as they’d explored the narrow streets.

  Today, he walked at her side. As a friend. The thought left a sour note in her mind.

  Fira’s shops lined the streets, colorful fabrics and beach souvenirs catching the eye. Delicious smells lingered in
the marketplace, and she couldn’t resist stopping for a bite of baklava, or a delicious gyro. She bought a colorful linen wrap intended for the beach, and took her time browsing as they shopped. It was pleasant . . . and infuriating at the same time.

  They went sightseeing and talked about nothing in particular. They read the poem repeatedly, scanned the streets for wheels or things that might have matched up with their clues, and came away empty-handed. By the end of the evening, Violet’s feet ached from walking, her nose was sunburned, and she was a good, achy tired again. They’d eaten all day as they’d walked, so there was no need for dinner. Still, when it came time to part, Violet hesitated. Did Jonathan want to spend time with her? Maybe come up to her room? Have a little more “friends with benefits” time?

  Not that she wanted to, she assured herself. But if he wanted to, then at least she’d know he was still interested.

  But Jonathan seemingly didn’t care. He gave her a quick smile, told her he’d call her in the morning when he woke up, and headed down the hall to his own room.

  And for some reason, that bugged Violet. It seemed like the more mixed-up she became emotionally, the more he retreated.

  She hated that. She wanted him to be just as torn and confused as she was. She wanted him to think about their interlude on the plane when he laid down to sleep that night, because lord knew she was.

  She dreamed about him, too. Dark, delicious dreams of his mouth and his hands, and him murmuring filthy poetry in her ear as he made love to her.

  It was depressing to wake up and find she was in bed alone.

  The next day went much like the first. They headed to the beaches, and when Violet protested that they probably wouldn’t find any hints toward her father’s poem, Jonathan suggested that they simply enjoy themselves. It would come to them at some point. They just had to be patient and wait, and until they came across it, they could enjoy the island paradise that Santorini had to offer. She just needed to think of it as a working vacation, Jonathan teased.

  And Violet thought she was good at being patient, but she wasn’t. She really wasn’t. Because when they walked the beach and strolled in the surf, she wanted Jonathan to hold her hand like the other couples they saw. She wanted to run her hands over those flexing muscles and know that he belonged to her.

  She was falling for him all over again, and that was dangerous. The harder she fought to pull away from him, the closer she was dragged.

  It seemed to be the opposite for him. Jonathan was cheerful and friendly, but there was a definite distance between them. It was like he didn’t care if he ever kissed or touched her again.

  She should have been happy with that. Just like she should have been happy to have a few days of paradise on the beaches of Santorini, enjoying the sun and relaxing in a beautiful Mediterranean island.

  But she wasn’t. She was more tense than ever, and it had nothing to do with her father’s silly scavenger hunt and everything to do with the gorgeous, sexy man at her side who was determined to just be her friend.

  Why on earth had she ever said she wanted to just be friends? Worse than that, why was he okay with it?

  Violet felt like she was in a hellish sort of limbo. A friendly, no-strings-attached, no-hearts-on-the-line sort of limbo. It was a limbo she would have been perfectly happy with two weeks ago, before Jonathan was back in her life.

  But now that he was, it seemed her heart wanted all or nothing. And she was utterly terrified of that, just like she was terrified that he was no longer attracted to her.

  What if she fell for him again—a very real possibility—and he was no longer interested? She’d be left behind, hung out to dry once more.

  And it scared the hell out of her.

  But as day three merged into day four in the island paradise, business and pleasure continued to mix together. When Jonathan suggested that they check out the local scuba diving in case of any submerged wheels, Violet knew it was a long shot, but she went along with it, and they spent a day diving in the blue Mediterranean waters. Following that train of thought, they visited every tour of the ruins on the island, and Violet hated that she enjoyed it so very much. Each day was pleasant, and utterly, completely frustrating. She couldn’t keep living in this wonderful, terrible limbo. She just couldn’t.

  Something had to be done.

  It was clear that Jonathan wasn’t pursuing her anymore. If she wanted him, she’d have to pursue him and make it obvious that she desired him. She’d have to put her heart out on the line and offer it up to him, not knowing if he was even attracted to her anymore. Maybe he was content with their now-friendship.

  Violet would have to be the one taking all the risks. And it frightened her, but it didn’t make her as miserable as the thought of more torturous days of a remote Jonathan who was cordial and polite and treated her about as intimately as he did the staff at the hotel.

  She thought she’d wanted to be his friend.

  She didn’t. Not in the slightest.

  So . . . Violet began to plan. If she was going to break through this friend-zone they found themselves in, she needed to go all out.

  —

  The next day, when Violet suggested they spend another afternoon at the beach, Jonathan was surprised. She’d been antsy with every day spent on the island. It was obvious to him from her frustrated body language, and from the way she kept frowning at him like he was doing something wrong.

  But what exactly he was doing wrong, Jonathan didn’t know. He was giving her space, just like she wanted. He didn’t touch her anymore, even though it was fucking killing him. Every evening, he slept like shit because his bed was empty, and he spent hours in the shower each night, jerking off and trying to relieve his body from the endless, aching lust he had for her.

  If Violet wanted nothing more than to be friends, he wouldn’t push her. He’d take whatever she would give him and be happy with that.

  She was clearly upset that they were stuck on the clue, though. Each day, she seemed more and more distressed that they were getting nowhere. He wasn’t unhappy at all, though; he loved that he got to spend these extra days with her. They’d both memorized the poem and looked for wheels all over the city. They’d asked about Dr. DeWitt at every location they could think of, and there was nothing to follow up on. Every day, Jonathan lived in fear that Violet would turn to him and say “I’m done. There’s nothing to be found.” And then he’d have no choice but to send her home and out of his life.

  He was a shitty person because he was glad they weren’t able to find anything. Because every day they were stalled meant another day he could drink in her presence, watch her dainty motions as she ate, watch the way she turned her pretty face up to the sun to catch a bit more sunlight. The way she smiled. The smell of her hair. The way she put her fingers to her full lips to bite her nails.

  So her suggestion to go to the beach had taken him by surprise. Not that he was complaining. Another day of leisure with Violet at his side? He’d take it.

  As soon as they got to the beach and she stripped off her cover-up, though, his mouth went dry.

  Instead of the sensible black one-piece Violet had been wearing for the past few visits to the beach, she’d purchased a bikini. Not just any bikini, but a tiny, bright blue one that barely covered her curvy ass with a triangle of fabric, and a top that seemed to push her magnificent breasts together into two plump mounds that bounced with every step.

  He’d had to adjust himself several times at the sight of it.

  Not that she’d notice—Violet had barely glanced at him, her gaze on the water. “Weather’s lovely today.”

  They were going to talk about the weather, were they? When her jiggling breasts were just begging to be freed from those creative straps holding them together?

  She squinted up at the sun and put down her towel. “I think I need some suntan lotion or I’m going to burn.
Would you do me the honors?” She held out a small white tube to him and presented him her back.

  He took it from her, wondering if this was some kind of torture. At the base of her spine, he could see two dimples that framed her tattoo: Carpe Diem. Staring at that tattoo was going to get him into trouble. His gaze moved up, to her shoulders. Probably a bad call. Jonathan stared at Violet’s nape for a long moment, tempted by the tiny bow of her swimsuit tied there. It was just begging to be pulled apart, and then her breasts would tumble free from their confinement . . .

  And then he’d have everyone at the beach staring at his woman. Well, more than they were already staring. He was already casting scowls in the direction of a few men.

  With an angry squirt of suntan lotion, Jonathan pressed his hand to Violet’s shoulder.

  She shivered, squirming. “That’s cold!”

  God, his dick was so fucking hard at the moment. He was going to embarrass himself if anyone saw the hard-on he was sporting in his own swim trunks. But Violet needed to be protected from the sun’s rays, so he continued to stroke the lotion into her skin—a rather delicious kind of torture, especially with the soft little sounds of pleasure she was making at his touch.

  “Mmm, thank you,” she said when he was done.

  He didn’t say anything in response, just stormed right into the water so he could hide his erection. When it was waist high, he dropped in to his neck and stared out at the blue sea, trying to compose himself.

  To his annoyance, Violet swam out to him, ignoring the fact that he was trying to flee. “Have you had any luck with the poem?”

  “None,” he bit out. He wasn’t thinking about it. Hell, he wasn’t even trying. If it took a month for them to figure out Dr. DeWitt’s cryptic message, he’d be ecstatic. That was time he’d get to spend with Violet. Looking at her, absorbing her presence, listening to her soft voice. “I haven’t worked on it today.”

  “That’s all right,” she told him. “I’m kind of at a dead end, too.” She stood up in the water and let it sluice down her skimpy top, her breasts magnificent and gleaming.